


The Winter Dream

by Kendrene



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Murder, Nigthmares, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 11:58:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8444974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kendrene/pseuds/Kendrene
Summary: Carmilla's newfound mortality is something rather hard to deal with, especially when her sleep is haunted by the shadow of her past. Laura's arms prove to be the safest harbor.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mimillekoishi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimillekoishi/gifts), [Callysto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callysto/gifts).



> This basically picks up where Heartbeats left off, and even though both one shots can stand alone, why not read that one if you haven't yet?
> 
> As usual kudos and comments are much appreciated!

You don’t exactly know how much time has passed when Laura gently prods you awake, but the water around you is unpleasantly cool. You shiver, something you have not done in three centuries and glare down at a body that you know to be your own, but that feels entirely alien to you. 

This will definitely take you time to get used to.

She helps you out of the bathtub and you find that your legs don’t hold you upright quite like they should. You hate feeling weak, adept as you are at exploiting the weaknesses of others and unused to deal with your own. Besides, three centuries where everyone besides Mother and perhaps Matska were weaker than you greatly hinder this new perspective. 

At the thought of your dead sister you almost gag against the knot constricting your throat. Your last embrace is engraved on the inside of your skull and you selfishly wish for her shadow to visit you at least one last time in the small hours of the night. 

You scourge your mind with the cutting whip of guilt and self-loathing, and know she’s done more than enough for both you and Laura, and you have no right to cling to her like a child does to a favorite blanket or a well worn teddy bear. 

You ought to let go and have her live on in the memories you have of her, and God haven’t you accumulated plenty in three hundred years of stolen half-life. You vow to guard them as a jealous dragon would, snarling viciously at the passage of time that threatens to erode the last remnants of Mattie away. If only there was a tomb for you to visit. 

And, just like that, the solitary grave sites you used to mock and haunt for sport aren’t a source of amusement anymore.

You wonder how shocking it will be, coming to terms with your newfound mortality.

The feeling of your body being pulled into the warm embrace of a soft towel brings you back to the here and now, to a room bathed in old, warm light and a girl you were presently ready to slay a Goddess for. 

Laura looks at you half curious, half concerned, brown eyes melting to soft cocoa. 

“Are you alright?” She looks ready to carry you again and you don’t think you’d have the energy to oppose her.

“I am,” you put on a smile you hope to be reassuring and are sure is rather tremulous, and your legs choose that moment to betray you and you stumble forward so abruptly Laura is caught off guard and you both almost tumble to the floor. 

You end up smacking your knees hard on the marble floor and wince as your face presses against her belly and her arms go around you soothingly.

“Fuck this body,” your face is clouded by a dark scowl when you lift it to meet her gaze and she smirks down at you, fingers tangling in your dark curls gently. 

“Gladly,” her expression turns serious as her hands sneak under your armpits and she helps you up, “but not tonight. We both need sleep.”  

At the mention of sleep your eyelids grow instantly heavy and as much as you’d like to tell her you don’t need help to walk yourself to bed, you relish the feeling of her body moulding itself to your side as she guides you to the master bedroom. 

It should be weird, the idea of sharing Mother’s bed with your lover, but you find it oddly comforting. Perhaps Laura is too tired to realize who the bed belonged too, or she has seen so many things far more hellish that she is beyond caring about appearing prim and proper. Still you don’t bring it to her attention, the lure of the feather stuffed mattress and the pile of pillows too much to resist. 

Laura pulls the duvet off and you let yourself drop inelegantly on the bed with a low huff. The mattress gives pleasantly beneath you, its touch cool against your body and your skin pebbles with goosebumps. On one hand you wish you weren’t so sensitive to temperature now, but everything seems to touch you deeper, and sensations linger for a long time after their cause is gone.

Laura joins you and pulls you into her, wrapping an arm around your waist. You feel her naked body like a protective fortress against your own and then the duvet is pulled over you both. You have the distinct impression that you should be aroused and probably would be if you weren’t so _ deathly _ tired. 

Sleep slithers along your limbs and pulls you under, and the last thing you feel is Laura’s slowing breath tickling your ear.

* * *

_ This night is the night of your debut into high society and you think you have never been so happy. _

_ The small kernel of doubt that lodged into the pit of your stomach grows heavier as the servant adjusts your corset, but you repeat to yourself that it is the air being squeezed out of your lungs by the strings digging cruelly into your flesh as fashion dictates.  _

_ Everyone told you you should be happy.  _

_ Of the party thrown especially for you, of your soon to be husband (they say he’s handsome but you don’t feel exactly moved by his heroic profile), of your family’s fortune.  _

_ They taught you to smile and look pretty since childhood and so you do, the showing of teeth a frozen rictus on your face that makes your jaw ache.  _

_ The only thing you look forward to is dancing the night away, and so you do or rather try to, whenever you can unhook your arm from your fiance’s and let yourself be spirited away by one gentleman or another.  _

_ The way he glowers and grits his teeth when you dance with someone else, sends a thrill down your spine and then as you lay eyes on the prettiest girl you have ever seen, the shivers take on a whole different quality.  _

_ The ballroom, glittering with displays of wealth and the brightest stars of Styrian high society  vanishes around you, your vision narrowing to a tunnel connecting you to her. She catches you staring and gives a small smile, pivoting on her heels, pleated gown billowing behind her, sliding between the partying guests and disappearing like a summer mirage.  _

_ You leave the Lord Marshal of her Majesty’s cavalry hanging, mouth half open to ask for another dance and whirl away, fighting with yourself to not break into an undignified run. You make your way through the throng, elbowing people aside when you have to, while others seem to perceive your sense of urgency and part for you like waves crashing upon land  _

_ You leave the suffocating warmth of the ballroom behind for the cold, dark quiet of an inner courtyard. Shadows gather under the colonnade that encircles it and you shiver as flakes of snow feather frigid touches on your reddened cheeks. There is the echo of a laugh, almost mocking, certainly frightening and you pull the ermine stole that rests around your shoulders flush to your chest, as if you were donning a suit of armor.  _

_ The sound comes again and you whip around, eyes now frantically scanning the shadows and then suddenly a woman is standing in front of you. It is not the girl you followed, but still she is breathtakingly beautiful. Her thin lips stretch into a smile, but no warmth spreads to the rest of her face, her eyes glowing like those of a bird of prey and you find yourself ensnared and frightened, the ball and the foolish, vapid men that crowd it suddenly far more enticing than this lonesome. abandoned space.  _

_ “How lovely you are,” her fingers grasp your chin and painfully dig into your flesh, “you will do.” _

_ Pain explodes between your breasts and when you look down, the jewel-encrusted hilt of a dagger sprouts from your chest like a horrid, grotesque flower. _

_ You crumble, fall without a sound, mouth full of the repulsive taste of your own blood.  _

_ Little do you know, blood will be the only thing you’ll truly taste for the next three hundred years. _

* * *

 

You wake with a start and a gasp, then bite the inside of your cheek bloody to suffocate a whimper. You have not dreamt of your death since you died it, and you definitely wish you did not have to relieve the agony of it.

You know there are no scars on your chest, yet your fingers shakingly rub the skin, searching for a gaping wound that should be there but isn’t. You cast a glance to Laura, peacefully sleeping at your side and admit begrudgingly you should be grateful to Mother or you would have never been blessed with your lover. That doesn’t make the guilt of your sins any easier to bear. 

You slowly disentangle from the knot of limbs and blankets trapping you in bed and stand, intending to wash the last shreds of the nightmare off your face. 

Not many people can boast they dreamt of their deaths  _ after _ it actually happened, yet it is a knowledge you would rather do without.

The house is a living thing around you that creaks and moans with every touch of the wind against its walls, and you move carefully down the darkened hall, unwilling to trade Laura’s slumber for some light.

The cold water you splash on your face fully wakes you, but it doesn’t dispel the memory of the blade sinking inside you or Mother’s icy stare as she murdered you in cold blood. 

You sigh, then make your way back to the bedroom, using the scant light of the moon that throws a dusty, silvery glow along the edges of Mother’s furniture for guidance. Still the decrepit armchair emerging from the gloom ambushes you and you catch your toe against one of its ponderous legs and can’t hold back a howl of surprised pain. 

You swear in all the languages you know (and you know a lot) and you hop to the bed on one leg, cradling your pounding foot as soon as your behind touches the mattress. 

“Babe?” you feel Laura sit up behind you and the soft light of the bedside lamp fills the room, “what’s going on?” 

You gingerly touch your toe and wince when it throbs sharply. Your eyes narrow and flick to your other foot. You are pretty positive your hurt toe is swelling up. 

“I am dying.” 

Laura crawls out of the blankets and comes to sit next to you, swinging her bare legs off the bed.

“Nah. It may feel that way, but wait till you get a papercut.”

She smirks and you glower, annoyed by the nightmare and the fact she doesn’t seem to be taking you seriously. She seems to catch onto your broodiness and leans in to peck your cheek gently.

“I am sorry Carm. I guess after three centuries of being a badass vampire it’s hard to adjust.”

You grumble, giving up on massaging your wounded foot and fold your arms across your chest. “I am still badass.”

“Of course you are,” her hand goes to the back of your neck and her fingers squeeze gently. It feels oddly calming and you slump against her, burying your face against her neck. “I don’t want to go back to sleep.” You mumble against Laura’s skin.

“Then what do you propose we do? We have no Earth saving research projects to fill the night.” Your answer is a swipe of the tongue along her neck. 

“Carm…” She trails off and you feel her swallow against your lips, “I don’t think you’re strong enough to ahhh-” 

She is cut off abruptly when you throw her down on the bed and straddle her, bending down to kiss her slow and deliberate. You are not one for open mouthed, sloppy kisses full of tongue, having had ample time to perfectionate the art. Your tongue is a whispered promise of things to come against her bottom lip, the kiss worshipping rather than full of passion.

You pull back, allowing her enough space to breathe and she gulps for air desperately, clinging to you and shivering, tense like a bowstring right before the arrow leaves the archer’s fingers.

“I guess,” she sighs against the dip of your throat, “I guess you’re strong enough.”

You don’t answer, simply stealing her breath away anew, then marking your way down her throat and along her collarbone, licking and nipping the expanse of her skin. Laura’s fingers tangle into your tresses, tugging urgently, trying to push you lower, but you growl your refusal.

You choose what pace to set. You and you alone. 

Your teeth sink into her pulse point, failing to pierce her skin as they lack the sharpness of fangs now, still her hands fall away and her hips rise to seek friction against you. You close your eyes and suck on her flesh greedily, enjoying the way the wetness grows between your writhing bodies and the little moans that leave her throat as your hands roam lower, cupping and squeezing her breasts, tormenting the tender flesh of her nipples. 

“Carm...please...oh God, please…” 

You know that you could take her without hurry, no Apocalypse waiting to happen just beyond the horizon, but when she pleads that way you come undone and pull away to a sitting position to drag her on your lap. 

The golden hue of the lone lamp burning on the night table, bronzes her skin, and your mouth runs dry as your hands caress along her arms and down her sides, playing the spaces between her ribs like strings of a harp. She is an instrument of music beneath your touch, her sighs and moans building to a crescendo, the lower your fingers travel. 

You grab her by the hips and have her lift slightly, hand cupping her drenched folds, your fingers parting her and sinking in deep without warning. Her fingernails scratch your back, leaving delicious trails of fire along your shoulder blades and your free hand rests on the curve of her hip, helping her rock against your hand. Your fingers curve inside her, stroking against her silken walls until you find a spot that’s slightly rougher than the rest and when you slide against it her hips jump and she buries her face against your shoulder, biting hard and leaving a mark of her own. 

You murmur sweet nothings in her ear as she rocks into you, your hand matching her rhythm and soon enough you are plunging forward when her hips rock back, and withdrawing to the point you make her whimper and beg when she presses the advance. 

You dance entwined towards her release, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps the closer she comes to the edge. And when the waves of her climax threaten to sweep her away, you tether her and ease her down on the bed tenderly. 

Your fingers slow and still, but you don’t pull out, unwilling to leave her silken depths and enjoying the way her walls flutter madly with the aftershocks. Her hand covers yours and she murmurs your name sleepily, struggling to keep her eyes open. You know she wants to give back the pleasure she took, but with sudden clarity you know there’s time. With Mother gone and the Gates of Hell securely closed you got nothing but time. 

You finally withdraw and can’t resist sucking your fingers clean, and you think she tastes like possibility, like a future you never dared to hope for. 

You lay next to her, and it’s your turn to pull the blankets up and around you both, and as her body succumbs to tiredness, her hand seeking yours to hold, your own eyes shut the world out.

Your nightly terrors lay discarded on the floor among the towels you abandoned in a heap and as your other hand splays over your chest for a moment, right on the spot the dagger marred with its steel bite, you drift to deserved rest with the knowledge that you wouldn’t understand what love is, if you hadn’t undergone the trials of its sacrifices.


End file.
